I have always loved bright colors and the “Enchilada Red” paint they’d used on the new building reminded me of the bright umbrellas outside my favorite Mexican restaurant along the river. It was a San Antonio classic. As a child, I remember hopping out of the car and dashing towards the restaurant when my parents took me there, much to my mother’s chagrin. I loved to lean over the railing too and watch the boats pass by. I was glad I now worked close to the river and walked down on my lunch breaks occasionally, if I hadn’t opted for an oversized cushion on one of the reading porches, another of my hideaways.
My parents may not have approved of everything I did, but they never had a problem with my profession. I didn’t think I would ever leave the library. On that occasion, though it was beginning to get chilly, my mood led me to the reading porch, accompanied by one of my best friend, a novel. I was pleased to have the spot to myself too.
After ten pages I uncrossed my legs, put down The Path of Alchemy and looked out over the city. I could see people walking over a walkway that connected two building. I had always preferred the company of books, even in college. My roommate had never understood. I just didn’t find any pleasure in the frivolous games they played. And I never seemed to meet anyone I was interested in either, though I would be subjected to blind dates at least once a month. The only guy I found mildly intriguing was one who was studying nature conversation. We met at a party and started chatting, but then he started messaging me every day thereafter and that was the end of him.
The last date I had been on was more than six months ago, I thought, opening the cover of my book again. I noticed the end of the chapter had meditation exercises. At least I would have something to do that night at home.
But when I arrived home I didn’t get to the exercises, at least not until later. I put my bag and jacket on the sofa and was heading to the open-plan kitchen to make a cup of mint tea, when I saw something odd. In the field opposite our three-story apartment complex we had four trees which towered above the building. Perched on a branch of the nearest tree was a massive bird.
I slowly took a step back and peered through the glass sliding door of my balcony. I stared at it. Compared to the pigeons I had seen in the tree, this bird was three times larger. Perhaps it was a bird of prey, I thought, but I hadn’t realized there were any still in the city limits. I wanted to get a closer look, but didn’t want to risk scaring the majestic creature off. My sock-clad feet remained dead still as I studied it.
~*~
As I walked passed the colorful glass-blown Fiesta tower inside the library the following morning, I thought back to the beautiful bird of prey. It was most likely a hawk, according to Google. I hadn’t taken a photo of it with my mobile, but didn’t regret it, even though I would probably never see it again. After about twenty minutes, it had flapped its immense wings and flown away, leaving me feeling melancholy. Then I remembered my book and the daily exercises. Perhaps the meditation could cheer me up, I thought. I chose an exercise on embracing loss and used the bird. I went to my bedroom, lit some incense and sat in the middle of my bed, with the book open next to me. It was difficult to still my mind, but the thoughts began to dissipate. After the meditation my body felt lighter and I didn’t feel sad about the hawk leaving anymore. I realized I had the pleasure of its visit and that was glorious in itself.
I stopped and looked up at the Fiesta tower’s myriad of colors, as though I were seeing it for the first time. It was a very original work of art and matched the feel of the building well. I liked the energy it resonated.
“Are you okay?” one of my colleagues asked as she passed by.
“Better than okay!” I replied.
I walked to my station as though I were bounding through a forest, like in the dream I had the night before. It was not the first strange dream I’d had lately. I had been walking on a narrow path that led through a lush forest. It was dark except for the light of the moon. The sound of an owl made me look up into the glowing orb rising above the tree line. The trees began to thin and I saw a cabin in the distance, in the middle of a clearing. I could see smoke coming from a chimney. As I took a step closer however, the path and the cottage began to fade and then were gone.
I looked up from my desk and a queue had formed in front of me. I didn’t mind having to deal with people that day. An old man in a fedora, towards the end of the queue, caught my eye. I hoped he wasn’t one of the lonely old men who loved to tell me their whole life story. He smiled at me in a strange way and I looked away quickly. It wasn’t a creepy look, but it conveyed a sense of familiarity. I looked down and then at him again. He didn’t look like anyone that I’d met before. When I glanced at the queue a few seconds later, he wasn’t there. I studied the line of people, but he was gone.
After my shift, I headed towards the staff parking lot. I scrounged in my bag to find my keys, stopped and finally felt the round metal keyring attached to the set. I was a few steps away from my car, when I noticed someone sitting on a bench watching me. It was the old man again. He didn’t move, but continued to look my way. I unlocked my door, climbed inside and looked back at the bench. I shook my head. The old man had vanished again. Then I suddenly remembered the hawk and rushed home.
~*~
I hurried out onto the balcony and stared at the tree, but it wasn’t there. Every night after that I rushed out, as soon as I got home, to look for it. I couldn’t help the growing obsession to see the magnificent bird of prey again, but the tree remained empty. As the days passed in its absence, I grew sadder. I even went out one afternoon, walked over to the tree and touched it. I longed to feel some kind of connection. I needed to. Why did I feel such a strong link to this bird, I wondered. As an only child, my parents had assuaged my loneliness with various pets. They had refused to give me the one pet I really wanted though, a dog. The substitute, a fluffy, bouncy kitten arrived on my sixth birthday and had only died when I was midway in my undergrad. Now I had no pets and weren’t allowed any according to the complex rules anyway.
I gave up on seeing it again after a week had passed, but the sadness remained in my heart. I closed my front door one evening after work and walked towards the kitchen counter. I forced myself to keep my eyes straight ahead, but in the end couldn’t help glimpsing quickly towards the balcony. I sighed. No hawk. I switched the kettle on and reached up to open the cupboard, when I heard a strange flapping noise. It sounded close by. I dashed towards the glass door and screamed.
It was back! And it was right there, perched on the railing of my balcony! I had never seen a bird of prey up so close. It was over 20 inches tall! I stared at it and didn’t move. Its talons were long and yellow and ended in sharp black claws. Red splatters covered the bird’s talons and beak. The faint light from the balcony wall reflected in its eyes. I found myself gazing into their depths and couldn’t look away.
Then it spread out its wings and they nearly touched either side of my balcony. I shrieked and staggered backwards. This beautiful creature shouldn’t be here, I suddenly thought. And it might be hurt. I ran back to the kitchen counter and picked up my mobile. I had to call animal control. I rushed back towards the balcony with the phone to my ear. Then its eyes drew me in again and something told me not to report the bird, not in words, but a sense of reassurance and calm came over me.
I put the phone in my pocket, moved to the armchair facing the balcony and sat down. I watched the bird as I held the Amethyst I wore in a chain around my neck. It stayed perched on the railing for a few minutes and then flapped its wings and took off with perfect elegance. I couldn’t believe it had come back and had been on my balcony! I was breathing fast, I realized, as my eyes remained locked on the position it had been in a few seconds ago. Though it had left, I knew I would see it again.
I was bursting with excitement and wished I had someone to tell. I knew the girls at the book club would be suitably impressed. I hadn’t been to a meeting in three months, but the next day was the last Friday of the month
and they would be getting together.
The following evening I accepted the traditional glass of wine at the door and went and sat in the furthest corner of the room next to the fireplace. The warmth of the embers warmed my shins as the wine warmed me from the inside. It was a small book club with a turnout of usually between five and ten girls. I hoped someone would ask me what I’d been up to since I last saw them. They were usually keen to hear about my pursuits in alternative healing.
“Layla, we haven’t seen you in a while,” the organizer asked and smiled wanly at me.
She didn’t like having the spotlight off her.
“Yes, I thought it’d be nice to catch up with you girls,” I replied.
One of the friendlier girls came and sat beside me.
“What have you been up to Miss Librarian?” she joked.
I leant forward, took a deep breath and told her all about my majestic visitor.
“You saw a what?” one of the other girls asked and sat down on the adjacent sofa.
My heart began to beat faster as two more girls gathered around to hear my story. I held my glass of wine firmly in my hand and gulped a quarter of it down. Naturally the organizer castigated me for not calling animal control, but the others were envious. When I returned home that night the balcony was empty. And though it had felt good to share my news, I now felt empty as I walked out and gazed at the towering trees. Then I noticed a long white and brown feather on the tiled balcony floor. I picked it up and as soon as I held it in my hand, a voice filled my head.
“I shall return soon.”
I swung around but there was no one there. I leaned over the edge of the railing to see if someone was on the balcony below, but it was empty too. I stared down at the feather. The next day I held it in my hand again, but nothing happened, neither did the hawk appear that night or the following night.
Chapter Two
I had to take small steps as the path leading down the hill became steeper. I held on to a protruding rock with my left hand and lowered my right leg to the ground. A trail of smoke was blowing away from the cottage. Then the smoke and cottage faded and were gone. I sat up in bed. I wished I could make sense of the strange dreams I kept having and the absence of the hawk. I felt like it had abandoned me.
I had given up on my meditation, as I usually did and instead tried to cheer myself up with food, chili con carne take-out from my favorite restaurant. I hoped that would make me feel better. I climbed up the steps to my apartment, put the restaurant packet down and opened the door. Before I switched the light on, I noticed something odd. I reached down for the packet. It looked like there were glistening slivers or shards on the floor. I tilted my head to the side as my stomach began to tense. I lifted my arm and flipped the light switch.
It was glass and it covered the living room floor. I took a step backward. The balcony door had a huge hole in the center with broken shards of glass forming sharp points. I reached for my phone and then let go of it in my bag. Droplets of blood were splattered on the ground together with the glass. I inched into the living room to see if I could see anything else.
“Oh my God!” I cried out and dropped the take-away packet.
Laying on the ground, covered in blood, was the majestic bird of prey. I leapt closer to the hawk and knelt down. It was moving, but its eyes were closed. I fetched a towel, gently wrapped the bird in it and put it on the coffee table. I located the closest vet on my mobile and was about to dial the number, when a voice spoke in my head.
“No,” it said, “Only you.”
I cast my gaze around the room, but there was no one there except me and the bird. I looked down at it. Its eyes were still closed.
“I trust only your hands,” the voice continued.
I could not hear the words with my ears. They were only inside my head. Where had the voice come from? Was I going mad? Then a sense of calm and certainty flooded my mind. I stood up slowly and knew what to do. I unwrapped the towel and looked closer at the bird’s body. There were many cuts on its breast and sides and it looked like feathers were missing too. There was a deep gouge across its beak. I lit some incense, fetched my bag of crystals and placed the stones around the bird. Then I brought my hands slowly closer to its body. I held them just above the hawk, over the deep cuts and moved them slowly to different parts of its body. At first it remained still as my hands hovered over it. I thought perhaps it had died. Then I saw a wing twitch as my hands hovered over a patch where feathers were missing. It seemed to be responding to the energy. I prayed it would not die. After three healing sessions, I was drained. I sat back and looked at the bird. I hoped it would make it through the night and that I had done the right thing, not taking it to the vet.
~*~
I fell asleep on the single armchair and was awoken by the sunlight before my alarm the next morning. My eyelids were heavy and uncooperative. They opened slowly and then suddenly snapped open when I remembered the bird.
I looked over at the table but it was empty. I sat up straight and only then noticed something on the armchair in the far corner of the room. I jumped up, screamed and ran behind the kitchen counter.
“Wh-who are you?” I whispered from behind the counter.
There was no reply. I picked up my mobile from inside my bag and dialed 911. He didn’t move.
“I-I have an intru-” I stammered.
Then his eyes slowly began to open.
“Mam-mam, are you still there?” the 911 operator responded.
Then he closed his eyes again. His otherwise naked body lay draped with a bloodied towel over his hips.
“I won’t hurt you, Layla.”
His mouth had not moved as he spoke. I hung up the call and slowly put the phone down on the kitchen counter. He still didn’t move. I took a step into the living room, still keeping my distance from this strange, naked man on my armchair. Where was the hawk, I wondered. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t feel threaten by this man in my apartment.
I ventured even closer. Then I noticed his olive skin was damaged in places. He had cuts across his chest and arms. My feet edged nearer. Then I saw his face more clearly. He had wavy brown hair, a strong jaw line and sharp nose. His nose had a deep cut on it too. What was he doing here? What had happened to him? I reached my hand towards him and then quickly withdrew it, as his chest rose suddenly. His eyes were still closed. His legs were stretched out and reached to the rug. He must have been over six foot tall. My eyes drew back to his bare chest and well-defined abdominal muscles.
I collapsed down onto the armchair I had slept on and stared at the injured man. It was the same voice I had heard when I was trying to help the hawk. I looked at the hole in the balcony door. It looked the same. The bird would not have been able to maneuver through without getting seriously injured.
He moved his hand up onto his stomach. His fist was closed, like he was clasping something in his hand. I leaned closer. It was one of my crystals, the Agate, a very powerful stone. I knew that ancient civilizations used Agates in amulets for protection and I had always felt a close connection with the stone. It was no wonder the stranger had chosen the strength-bringing and protection crystal to grasp.
Then I remembered another crystal I felt a close link to and felt compelled to see it again. I walked to my bedroom and took down the velvet pouch from the bookshelf. I gently emptied the pouch on my bed and found the stone I was looking for. I held it in my hand and closed my eyes. I slowed my breathing and tried as best as I could to clear my mind. But nothing happened. I took a slow deep breath in and exhaled a slow, controlled breath. The crystal began to warm up in my hand. If the Native American Indians and Mayans could use it in sacred communication, why wasn’t it working for me, I wondered. Being impatient wouldn’t help. I let my doubts flow out of my mind as they came in and my body began to feel lighter.
“Thank you,” a voice suddenly communicated in my head.
It worked! The Azurite stone worked. It did help to boost psychic
abilities. Was the communication from him though, I wondered. I put the stone in my pocket and returned to the living room. The man hadn’t moved and his eyes were still closed. Maybe I’d imagined the voice again, I thought.
“No, Layla,” the voice said, “don’t doubt yourself and your abilities.”
~*~
I could not keep my mind from drifting back to his words. His words in my head!
“What’s up with you?” one of my colleagues asked.
She handed me a pile of books and turned back to serve a customer.
I grinned and looked away quickly. “Nothing.”
I had insisted on cleaning his wounds the day before. My hand pressed gently on his skin with a cotton wool swab. I dabbed it on a deep cut which ran over his pectoral muscle. The muscle twitched and I drew quickly back. He smiled at me and nodded his head. He had still not said anything to me, at least not in a voice I could hear with my ears.
I had found a pair of sweat pants for him to wear, left behind by an old boyfriend. They were a bit short, but more appropriate than a bath towel at least! Once his wounds were cleaned, I had him lie down on the three-seater sofa. I placed my hands an inch above his skin and slowly worked over his wounds and the rest of his body. I could feel his energies change after a few minutes.
“You are a good healer, Layla,” he said, in my head.
“How do you know my name?” I asked verbally.
I didn’t think I was capable of communicating the way he did.
“It’s not important,” he replied.
His answers were always cryptic and the less he said, the more I babbled about myself.
“I’ve always preferred books to people,” I said, “They make far better company.”
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